


Plans of a More Intimate Kind

by weakinteraction



Category: Chess - Rice/Ulvaeus/Andersson
Genre: Alternate Universe - Porn, Character hits head and wakes up in porn movie version of their life, Crack, Double Penetration, Femdom, Multi, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-02-23 06:28:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23707168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weakinteraction/pseuds/weakinteraction
Summary: Certainly an idyllic scene from some points of view, but "well-produced" tends to be pretty debatable for '80s porn.  Definitely not a protagonist short, though.
Relationships: Anatoly Sergievsky/Frederick Trumper/Florence Vassy
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10
Collections: Smut 4 Smut 2020





	Plans of a More Intimate Kind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SegaBarrett](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SegaBarrett/gifts).



Alone in the cable car as it swayed back and forth over the Merano landscape, the lights of the bars and ski lodges shining out of the deepening twilight, Florence had far more time to think than she would have liked.

Was this all a colossal mistake? Should she be meeting with Sergievsky at all? What had he meant by what he had said during the ... confrontation, she supposed you would have to call it, even if it had been framed in diplomatic civilities, for the most part? Or had the colossal mistake come much earlier in her life, in letting herself become so deeply involved with Freddie, who was as frustrating as he was brilliant? And how _dare_ he invoke her father's memory like that? They had had some terrible arguments in their time, but he'd never descended quite that low.

She cast her mind back to the conversation she'd had with Walter that very morning.

"You know," he'd said, "with all the attention this competition is getting, I wouldn't be surprised if they make some sort of movie about it a year or two down the line. You'd be played by some famous star ..."

"I doubt it," Florence had said. "It would probably be a made-for-TV movie."

"Or, who knows, maybe even a Broadway musical?" Walter had said with a grin.

"I think I'd prefer West End," Florence had replied, giving in to the idle speculation.

"Of course, if it does end up as a movie, someone somewhere will end up making one of those X-rated parodies."

"Walter!" Florence had said with a smile. Then, more seriously, "But that's the sort of thing you could put a stop to, if you wanted to, isn't it?"

Walter had just tapped his nose enigmatically and gone back to discussing exactly what percentage of Sergievsky's entourage were likely KGB agents.

But the thought had stuck with her: how would all this play out in some dramatisation of her life? This journey, her thoughts churning in confusion about whether she was doing the right thing, was exactly the sort of thing they'd chop out. Unless they really did go for a musical, she supposed -- then she'd have a big number right about now, laying out the turmoil in her mind in 4/4 time. But staging it in a cable car would be a ridiculous undertaking, they'd set it back at the hotel ...

The cable car swayed again, more dramatically this time. Florence was catapulted from her seat and hit her head on the window on the opposite side.

* * *

Florence got up from the floor of the cable car and rubbed her head gingerly. Had she lost consciousness for a moment? She didn't _feel_ concussed, but it was hard to tell with these sort of things sometimes. Or so she'd read; she didn't exactly lead the sort of life that gave her many occasions to worry about brain injuries.

Still, she didn't seem to have moved -- but then, the cable car seemed to have stopped completely, and she had no way of knowing how long that had been the case. Whoever was controlling it on the ground might have had to wait a while for some problem to be fixed, or might just be letting the oscillations die back down. The rhythmic swaying as they did reminded Florence of rocking back and forth on top of Freddie, her hand pressed down firmly on his chest, his cock hard inside her as he strained upwards ...

Now why had she started thinking about _that_ sort of thing now? Maybe the knock to her head had done something.

As she shook her head to try and clear it, the cable car juddered back into life, taking her on to her destination.

As she reached the door, she was greeted by a waiter wearing only a set of briefs and a bow tie. Behind him, she could see others in the same costume, and the waitresses dressed in corsets and fishnet tights. Florence didn't know quite what she'd expected of an exclusive mountaintop restaurant, but it definitely wasn't this. Apart from the staff, the place was nearly deserted, just a few couples finishing up their desserts. No sign of Freddie. Typical.

She wondered what Sergievsky was making of it all; she finally spotted him sitting at a table in a secluded booth in the far corner, by a window that looked out over the darkened landscape: the snow shone weakly in the starlight. She indicated to the waiter that that was who she was here to meet, and he nodded politely and escorted her over.

When she sat down next to him, though, she found she wasn't sure what to say. Surely she could break the ice by making some sort of conversation about the staff's strange uniforms? Surely they didn't have anything like this back home in the Soviet Union. But he seemed equally unable, or unwilling, to say anything--

He still wasn't saying anything when he leaned over and kissed her, grabbing hold of her head underneath the ears to pull her in tight.

She should have reacted. Or, rather, she thought with thought with what little of her brain wasn't given over to processing the heady sensations, she should be reacting differently than she was -- but her body was melting into him, kissing him back, her hands wrapping around his back and then sliding down to his delightfully firm ass.

Florence cast a glance behind her; the other guests had all left, and none of the staff were in sight either -- perhaps they had all discreetly retreated when they realised what was going to happen.

As Sergievsky -- no, Anatoly, surely now she had to think of him as Anatoly, even if they had only exchanged a few sentences earlier -- slid a hand down her back to come around and cup her breast, she thought again of what Walter had said, about the possibility of someone one day making a blue movie out of the championship and everything surrounding it. Perhaps, the part of her brain that was still determinedly resisting completely giving in thought, that idea had been prominent in her mind at the moment she had had the accident in the cable car. Perhaps she was still there, out cold, or more optimistically had been rescued and taken to hospital, and all of this was some strange sort of dream experience.

But if that was the case, why not enjoy it? She ran her hands further up, untucking Anatoly's shirt and feeling the firm muscles of his lower back. In return, he tried to reach inside her top, and she allowed him to do so for a moment before using one hand to remove it and grip not-too-tightly on his wrist. Understanding without any words needing to be said -- _I can be dangerous if I want to be_ \-- from then on Anatoly let her make the running. She pushed him back against the table and he slid himself backwards onto it, an arm reaching out above his head to push the condiments away to one side. Reaching down below his belt, she started to stroke his cock, feeling it stiffen in her firm grip.

"Well, who would ever think it?" came a voice behind them. "Such a squalid little--"

 _Shit._ He had made it after all.

"Freddie!" Florence said, leaping upwards. "I can-- I can explain."

"Oh, what's to explain?" Freddie said. "It's _more_ than obvious what's going on here."

"Mr Trumper," Anatoly said.

"Oh, don't 'Mr Trumper' me while you're underneath my second. I only came here to explain that I have agreed to new terms with Global Television, which in short means more money. For you as well, but that can't be helped. Therefore this meeting is unnecessary, the match can continue, and we don't have to be friends."

"That is a great disappointment," Anatoly said. "I--"

Florence's attention switched back to Anatoly immediately. "You mean ... ?"

"Believe me, I am attracted to you," Anatoly said. "I think you have had ample proof of that already. But I cannot deny that I am _also_ attracted to ... Freddie?" He said the last word tentatively, looking in his direction.

"Doesn't make a blind bit of difference to me," Freddie said, but his eyes told a different story.

"The tension between you two has been thick the whole way through the tournament," Florence said. "Don't try and deny it. Not to me."

Florence could feel the great knot that had built up inside her untwisting itself as the conversation went on -- maybe she didn't have to worry about whether she was on anybody in particular's side; she could be on everyone's side. Or on top of them, come to that.

She realised that Freddie was staring at her intently. "It's OK, Freddie," she said. "It's all OK." She took a step and pulled him into an intense kiss. When she released him, he then bent down to Anatoly and they kissed each other. The sight was quite something.

But when Freddie surfaced for air he was still uncertain, it seemed. "And what will Walter think?" he said, though Florence recognised his tone of voice as the one that crept in when he was casting around for counterarguments when he knew he'd already lost. "Or your guy, what was he called, Molotov?"

"Molokov," Florence found herself saying automatically.

"What they don't know will not hurt them," Anatoly said, standing up himself. "That is the saying, yes?" Florence nodded.

"And what happens next?" Freddie said. "You go back to Russia, and we're left here to pick up the pieces of our relationship?"

"Freddie," Florence said, "I've never told you this before, but something like this has always been a fantasy of mine. The only pieces we'd be picking up would be of a magical night."

"Actually," Anatoly said slowly, "I had already been thinking of defecting at the end of the championship."

"What?" said Freddie and Florence simultaneously.

"I have chafed under these restrictions for so long that I barely recognise myself," Anatoly said. "And now, tonight ... This, whatever this is, has made me realise that I must look for more."

"Well, then, do it," Freddie said. "Walter would be thrilled. They'd set you up with ... I don't know, whatever you wanted."

"And we could continue this ... arrangement," Florence put in.

"There is one thing," Anatoly said. "I would have more, ah, room for manoeuvre if I had won the championship."

Freddie's attitude, which had been softening rapidly, instantly hardened again. "You want me to throw the competition?"

"As I say, it would make things easier. If I lose, I will be whisked back home instantly, in disgrace. As the winner, they will want me to be paraded through all manner of ceremonies and receptions."

"And that's when you can make your move," Florence said. "It does make a certain amount of sense."

"Florence," Freddie said. "Please, don't ask me to do this."

"I'll tell you what," Florence said. "Let's make it fair." She hopped up onto the table and started to remove her clothes, starting with her jacket. She was businesslike about it, but she could tell that she had both men's total attention. "Whichever of you makes me come first gets to win the match."

Freddie and Anatoly looked at each other. Freddie nodded first, and she could tell that he was trying to keep his smirk under control -- she knew that he would think he had the advantage here. Anatoly said, "Agreed."

"And you both have to strip too."

They did so with almost alarming alacrity, discarding their clothes haphazardly on the floor of the now empty restaurant. They both gave one another a long, appreciative glance as they revealed their naked bodies, any inhibitions firmly cast aside. Definitely the porn movie version, Florence thought to herself.

Florence, meanwhile, had to wriggle slightly in her position on top of the table to get her skirt down from around her ass. "Let me help you with that," Freddie said, tugging on it firmly. Now she was down to just her underwear, she reached behind herself to undo her bra.

Almost immediately, Anatoly and Freddie descended to begin worshipping her breasts with their tongues. On her right, Anatoly was kissing his way around it in a slowly tightening spiral that she knew would eventually end on her nipple. Freddie, knowing what stimulation she could take, had already sucked the nipple on the other breast between his teeth and was now flicking his tongue back and forth across it. She moaned as she reached out for both of them, one hand tangling in Anatoly's hair and the other finding Freddie's ass.

Emboldened, and perhaps made rather desperate by the competition between them, Freddie released her nipple from his mouth and kissed his way further down her body, making for her thigh. To make it work, he had to half-sit, half-kneel, on the seat nearest him. Anatoly, on the other hand, had only just reached her nipple and began sucking on it slowly as it hardened. Spotting what Freddie was doing, however, he clearly thought that he might be left behind in their competition. He knelt down on the floor, but in the process nearly bumped heads with Freddie.

Find themselves in such close proximity, the two men spontaneously broke off from their attentions to Florence and instead kissed each other, this time much more deeply than they had on the first occasion. Florence gave an appreciative sigh at the sight, and wondered for a moment whether she should instruct them to suck each other off. But before she had time to act on the thought, Freddie turned away and back to her legs. He kissed his way up her inner thigh, all the way up to where the fabric of her panties was now soaked through.

With Freddie leaning in from the side, Anatoly was able to kneel between her legs. He began to lick her through her panties, tongue probing against her swollen pussy lips. Freddie reached across and pushed her panties to one side, though any thought that it was a magnanimous gesture to give Anatoly better access went away when he began stroking her clit.

Florence closed her feet together and found Anatoly's cock with them. His moan in response felt delightful against her cunt, and she began stroking back and forth.

"Hey ..." Freddie said. Florence made a face at him, but managed to reach out far enough with her left hand to wrap it around the tip of his cock and start rubbing back and forth.

"You're both so big," she told them. "I definitely want to feel these inside me later."

"And how exactly is that going to work?" Freddie asked.

"That's for me to know and you to find out," Florence replied. "You're talking too much. I'm sure you can find something better for that tongue to be doing."

Even though the remark had been directed to Freddie, Anatoly seemed to take note of it too, as he tilted his head back to enable his tongue to begin sliding in and out of her pussy rather than simply licking it. The change to the angle gave Freddie just enough room to lean in and begin licking her clit.

The feeling of two tongues working on her at once was so overwhelming that for a moment she lost her rhythm in stroking their cocks, but she quickly found it again, after a fashion. All three of them were now frenetic, and she realised after a moment that her fingers were making contact with Anatoly's -- he had wrapped them around Freddie's cock.

The extra stimulation was too much for Freddie, and she felt him explode into her palm. He had to steady himself, in the process moving away from her lap. Florence concentrated instead on riding Anatoly's tongue, and he in return thrust it further up inside her.

Moments later, she was coming as she ground down around Anatoly's tongue. Coming hard, harder than she ever had in her life before. "Oh fuck yes," she said, then let out a noise that was halfway between a moan and a shout.

It took a moment before she came back to reality. She was very conscious of Anatoly's still hard cock between her feet, and the possibilities it offered. But the most pressing concern was Freddie, who said, "Well, I guess that's the end of my reign as champion. Still, there are worse ways to lose, I guess."

"And there _are_ compensations," Florence said. "Anatoly, be a dear and suck Freddie's cock so that he's nice and hard again." As she spoke, she wiped the come on her hand all around Freddie's cock -- after all, it wasn't as though Anatoly was going to get to taste it at the _end_ of this particular blowjob.

She relaxed the grip her feet had on Anatoly's cock as he, somewhat reluctantly, removed his mouth from where it was still buried between her legs and instead used it to engulf Freddie's cock. Freddie groaned -- so soon after coming, the stimulation was almost too much.

Soon, though, both of them were really getting into the blowjob; the lust she could see in Anatoly's gaze as he looked up at Freddie was exquisite. Freddie, for his part, was arching backwards against the seat he was still in, the difference between him receiving head and fucking Anatoly's mouth becoming more and more blurred.

She let them go on a little longer, since they seemed to be enjoying it so much, before she said, "OK, Freddie, come and lie down here on the table."

Freddie looked curious but obeyed as Florence stood up for a moment. Once he was in position, she briefly bent down to suck Freddie's cock herself, judging that it was sufficiently lubricated for what she had planned next. She turned back around and lowered herself down so that her ass slid over it, causing Freddie to exclaim wordlessly.

"More than one first time for you tonight, I think," she said teasingly as she felt him filling her up. "And as for you ..." she said, turning to Anatoly, who was still kneeling as he watched everything that was happening, his eyes fogged with desire. Florence started rubbing her clit, not the small motions she made for her own benefit when masturbating, but a lewd display for Anatoly's. "I want you to feel that cock inside me," she said. "Champion."

Freddie had begun to make small thrusts back and forth within her ass, but he stilled himself as Anatoly stood up. Florence used her fingers to part her labia, and Anatoly needed no further encouragement, stepping forwards as he slid his cock into her in one smooth motion.

Florence bit her lip for a moment, before saying, "This is better than I ever imagined." She put her hands down at her sides, and slightly behind her, so that they gripped Freddie's where he was gripping the side of the table, and began to work both their cocks at the same time, more of a squeezing than a thrusting. "Can you feel each other?"

"Yes," Freddie groaned; Anatoly just nodded, and she leaned up towards him, inviting him in for a kiss. As their lips touched, she squeezed extra hard. "I want you both to come inside me," she said, breaking away. "But not until I'm ready. Do you think you can manage that?"

"We'll try our best," Freddie said.

Florence stilled herself for a moment to luxuriate in the sensations, and that moment was all the two men needed to start fucking her vigorously. "Remember," she said, "don't come yet."

"Anatoly," said Freddie from underneath her, "suck her nipples. It'll drive her wild. You can use your teeth a little, she won't mind."

"Freddie!" Florence said, mock horrified. But Anatoly was already following his advice, copying what he had seen Freddie doing earlier during their little competition. She found herself groaning involuntarily.

Encouraged, Freddie went on, "Use your tongue on her nipple as though it was her clit." Anatoly did just that, alternating between flicking back and forth across it and inscribing little circles around it.

After a little while, Anatoly decided to up the ante, manoeuvring his hand round at what must have been an awkward angle for him in order to start mimicking the motions of his tongue with his finger on her actual clit. She squeezed harder again around their cocks, making sure they both knew that they were doing exactly what she wanted.

Anatoly's thrusting became more erratic, and she could tell that he was getting close. She stared up at him, a broad smile on her face, and said firmly, "Not just yet." He nodded, clearly fighting hard not to come immediately. Poor thing, he was the only one of them who hadn't come already, and she had been teasing him mercilessly with her feet ...

The memory of what they had done just a short time earlier, blending with all the sensations she was experiencing now, started to push her to the edge. "Now," she said to both of them. "Fuck me hard."

Neither of them needed any further encouragement. Anatoly's fingers and tongue became almost frenzied as he thrust back and forth wildly. Freddie had to grab hold of her hips to be able to maintain his own thrusting against such an onslaught. Sensations that had merely been nearly overwhelming moments earlier became exquisitely excessive, as Florence rode their cocks to an even greater climax than the one she had enjoyed earlier. As she came around them, she felt both of them coming inside her, a feedback loop of orgasm with no clear beginning or end.

Florence collapsed backwards onto Freddie, and Anatoly leaned in to embrace them both. They stayed like that for an unknowable length of time, all wrapped up together in perfect contentment.

Eventually, though, they had to break apart. "You'd better get dressed," she said to both of them. "But I very much think we should continue these discussions at the hotel."

* * *

Florence woke up the next morning, her head foggy and her mind on fire with the intensity of the dream she'd just had. It had been a dream, hadn't it? Or something brought on by her little accident in the cable car. But then again, surely she should be waking up in hospital, not the hotel room, if that was what was going on ...

Then she heard the noises coming from the shower. Unmistakable noises of wet skin against wet skin.

A minute or two later, she walked into the bathroom. "Bad boys," she said. "Starting without me ..."


End file.
